I drew a line of my own, but did not tell you. It followed the contours and undulations of your steadfast delineation. Rising and falling in parallel. Stretching forward to the horizon, to a point where the world falls beyond reach.
The idea comes at night, of course. It creeps up the stairs to the bedroom where you sleep, and you wipe it away, this thing which brushes the skin of your forehead. But it finds a way in, and whispers to you, ‘hush, hush.’
A short story I wrote as an exercise for the weekly Faber Academy #QuickFic competition. This week they asked for stories inspired by a randomly-selected Wikipedia article, which happened to be about Sverre Farstad, a Norwegian speed skater and Olympic gold medallist. This is my take on the prompt. You can read the winning entries here.
Destinations flickered on the screen, a tantalizing glow of possibilities. None of them were places he had ever been, just names on a board. The crowd ebbed and flowed around him. While he stood there, at Grand Central Terminus. Journey’s end. Where he always found himself.
We traded pebbles and shells. For one pink scallop I gave you five stones polished smooth by waves. They glistened in your open palm. All day we played on the beach, our parents somewhere far off. Away, beyond the glint of sun and silhouettes, where they could not be seen. I had thought I could fool you. You were younger after all. That scallop, the perfect shape of it, its edges, pink and corrugated as if it had been engraved by the sea. I coveted it. Wished it was me that had found it. So I offered up those little Read More